Blurryface (A Phanfiction)
by TheMetaBard
Summary: Phil (Amazingphil) is just trying to survive London. Dan (danisnotonfire), a heroin addict, shakes up Phil's world. As Phil and Dan try to put the pieces together, they falls in love and learn that some faces are just better blurry. Story based on the album "Blurryface" by Twenty One Pilots.


_There's an infestation in my mind's imagination_

Phil

This isn't what I hoped when I decided to go into video production at uni. I sat on the floor and screwed the light stands together, making long aluminum poles. I lined them neatly in a row in front of my crossed legs, making them look like spears ready to be thrown at the savage enemy approaching. Well, at least I can say I was _actually_ doing videos now, even if it was only occasional stuff. I could show my parents that I didn't waste my potential and will forever work as a secretary/janitor/bookkeeper/muffin man for a small church of a religion that I didn't believe in.

I looked up from my work at the empty sanctuary. The large wooden cross hung on the wall behind the podium. It cast a long shadow across the stage and down the middle of the floor. Very ominous, if you believed that sort of thing. It was a very, very small church. And old, tucked between two office complexes in the middle of London. Methodist, I think or maybe Lutheran? I didn't really know. I didn't really care. They paid me just enough to survive in London and they left me alone for the most part. It was nice and I could focus on my freelance video production.

They asked me to use my skills to produce a video that they could play during the intermission of the service on Sundays. It was only supposed to be a couple of minutes long and not very complicated: just some pleasant, abstract scenes of the grounds. I eagerly accepted. Anything to get me out of the back office. Anything to get me behind the camera.

I set up the lights and turned them on. The stage illuminated in a flood of bright, white light. I took a step back and crossed my arms, chuckling to myself. "And God said: 'let there be light!'" I tried to pick out any imperfections in the shot. _The cross is dusty._ Of course the cross is dusty. I crossed the stage and started running my hand over the top of the cross, knocking dust bunnies off its surface. _This whole place is one large dust bunny._ I wondered for a moment if it was sacrileges to let a cross get dusty. Frustration rose to my chest. Now I would have to get the vacuum to make sure the carpet was clean.

I made my way through the pews to the back of the church to the broom closet. I pulled the small vacuum out and got back to the stage. The familiar feeling of jealous anxiety wrapped around my neck and made me freeze in the middle of the stage. I turned and looked out at the empty pews. _This_ is what I hoped when I decided to go into video production at uni. I wanted to get into multimedia. Maybe make videos for BBC or become a Youtube star like Smosh. Maybe get into the entertainment industry and do video production for music videos or movies. That's why I moved to London. But, here I was, barely getting by vacuuming a stupid church. I never, ever would admit it to them, but my parents were right, I was wasting my potential. I was wasting my life.

I turned the vacuum on and furiously led the dust bunnies to their demise, and tried to vent my restlessness into the light gray carpeting. I heard the creaky front door open over the roar of the machine and turned it off. I thought it was maybe Pastor Dean checking to see how the video was going. I looked up to see a guy about my age dressed in t-shirt and some tight pants, sopping wet. He shook his dark brown hair like a Golden Retriever, spraying water across the pews.

"Hey," I said, my frustration growing even further. Who was this guy and who did he think he was, coming in and getting everything wet? "The church is closed-,"

"It's raining." He cut me off as he looked around the sanctuary.

I sighed. This video was never going to get done. It was doomed from the start. Maybe I could go back to school and take some classes in janitorial services. I leaned the vacuum up against the cross and went back to the same closet, pulling a towel out of a little stockpile we had for homeless people and whatnot. I handed him one and watched him as he mopped water from his arms and chest. He draped the towel around his shoulders and sat down in the last row of pews. "I like the decor here, very simple."

"Thanks." I highly doubted this person's interior decorating skills.

"Are you the reverend?" He slurred his word a little at the end.

I moved the vacuum out the frame and started setting up the tripod for the camera. "No, I'm the groundskeeper." I said to my camera, my back to this stranger. I made sure that everything with the camera was calibrated before I set it on the tripod. I played around the settings and moved the lights around a bit. I was going for a mysterious, awe-inspiring view of the cross for the first couple seconds of the video.

"Do you have any food?"

I turned around and saw that the stranger had moved up in rows and now sat in the second row, a little closer than what I was comfortable with. "There's a McDonald's across the street." Now that his shirt was drying, I could see that it old and ratty and his trainers looked worn to the soles. _He's probably homeless._

"You know, you're not very kind for a religious lot." He pulled his feet up on the seat, wrapping his arms around the pale knees that poked through the holes in his jeans.

"I'm not religious, I just work here." I answered, turning back to the camera.

"That's like if you were a vegetarian worked at a meat packing plant." He laughed a little.

"I'm trying to get this done."

"And I'm trying to get some food." His eyes widened a little. "It looks like we're both on a quest for something."

I sighed. "Do you see a kitchen here?"

"Well, no. But, you have to have coffee or something, right? How do you guys have AA meetings without any coffee?"

"Because everyone brings their own."

"Do you taste test to make sure that they aren't actually drinking alcohol?"

"I don't know. Maybe you should come and see."

He straightened out one leg to dig around in his pocket. I caught a glimpse of his forearm and saw deep, red track marks running up and down like an evil highway. My stomach turned with slight disgust that comes with the usual stereotype that propagated drug-users as dirty degenerates of society, but there was an overwhelming feeling of curiosity too. _What happened to you?_ He caught me looking at his arm and quickly dropped some wadded notes on the floor before crossing his arms again. "I don't have any on me, so please don't call the police." He said quietly as he looked at the cross onstage.

"The only judge you have is God." I tried to say as nonchalantly as possible.

"That McDonald's doesn't let me in anymore. Can you just get me a Fish Fillet or some nuggets or something?"

I grabbed the notes off the floor. A whole three pounds and moved towards the door. I turned back around at the last moment. "The, uh, camera equipment is the church's. So, if you take it, you're really only screwing over God."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "I'm not going to take the camera equipment, you ass."

I grabbed my hoodie before I let myself out into the rain, running quickly across the street to the fast food giant. I frequently came to this McDonald's and ordered almost the same thing every time: Coffee and some apple pie.

As I ordered I thought about the guy in the church. I wondered what his story was. He looked like a pretty clean guy, even though his clothes were worn, you know he still had his teeth and his face didn't look like spoiled meat yet and all those other pictures that teachers show you to warn you against drug abuse. Or was it that you only lost your teeth if you smoked drugs? I think that was it. Anyway, he had some sores on his face and he was very thin, but otherwise he didn't seem like the strung-out druggie type like you see on the news for robbing a store clerk or whatever.

I grabbed the food from the counter and hid it under my jumper to protect it from the rain before I crossed back over the street. When I entered the dim church, the guy was sitting in the same spot, in the same pew, looking at the ceiling.

I dropped the bag of food into his lap and sat on the stage, opening a pie box.

"This is a lot of food, mate." He said as he started pulling sandwiches out of the bag.

I shrugged again. "You can call it a blessing. Seems appropriate for the setting."

"Thanks, JC." He waved a cheeseburger at the cross before digging in. I watched him consume sandwiches in two bites flat.

"You need to slow down, it's not going anywhere."

"I can't remember the last time I've eaten." He said between bites. "I lose track of time."

I could see his injection marks making his pale arms red and angry. "Have you ever thought about coming to a place like this or a hospital or something for help?"

He gave me a queer look. "Nobody wants to help me. Not even the religious bunch like you."

"I'm not religious." I defended. "But, I know what it's like to be alone."

He dismissed me with a wave and shook his head. "I'm a infection. I'm not good for anything but being a blemish to society."

"I don't believe that."

"Everyone here is just in the cold, unfeeling waiting room to death. I don't want to be like that: All wanting to assist, but not actually helping, all only rushing to say nothing. If I didn't know better I'd guess you're all already dead."

I put my arms out limply in front of me, zombie-style. "Am I doing it right?"

He threw a wadded up cheeseburger wrapper at me and smiled, it bounced off my chest and hit the gray carpeting. I stared at the bright yellow wrapper sitting there, existing. "I don't think you're a 'blemish to society' though." I said after awhile.

He smiled a little more. He had a nice smile. This guy could really be attractive if he wasn't a ratty mess. "Thanks," He said. "I've gotten more from a stranger in the last twenty than I have my own family in the last five years. It means a lot." He got up and handed me the McDonald's bag of empty wrappers. "Thanks for this too."

"No problem." I said and walked him to the door. "You can come back whenever you want, too. Even if it's just for McDonald's."

His brown eyes danced a little at me and he opened the door. The rain had subsided and left behind the musty-sweet smell of wet concrete and dark clouds. The McDonald's across the way broke the sky with it's fluorescent, yellow lights.

I watched him descend the stares. "Wait!"

He turned and looked at me. The towel I gave him earlier was still draped around his shoulders. I bit my lip. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why do you do it?"

"Do what - oh." He looked at his arm and then looked back at me, a pained expression on his face. He looked like a frightened, lonely, hurt child. A million emotions crossed his face, and they all held the same tone: pain. _What did the world do to you?_ I immediately regretted my question. "I do it because death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit." He looked at his feet. "And it lets me escape that feeling, at least for a little while." His voice cracked and he turned and walked across the street, and disappeared quickly in an alleyway. I shivered a little, thinking about his way his face twisted as he answered me. The pain in his eyes and the way he bit his lip.

 _Death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit._

 _—_

I went home that night without any sort of footage for the clip. Afterwards, I just sat in the sanctuary and stared at the cheeseburger wrapper that he threw at me, thinking about his words. _Death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit._ It was dark and late out when I finally broke down the tripod and turned off the camera. I let myself out of the church and took out my keys to lock it up. I look at my ring and then looked at the alley that he disappeared in. _Where are you sleeping tonight, mate?_ I put my keys in my pocket and left the door open.

I got to my basement flat and threw my stuff on the table of tiny, postage stamp-sized kitchen and flopped on the mattress that laid on the floor. The cracks in my ceiling looked like the Nile river as it slowly made it way across the room and fanned out in a wide delta near my front door. It even seemed like it flowed a little, as my landlord above me, a small Korean lady, padded across her living room and made it creak.

Something poked me in the back and distended my spine in a weird way. I reached under me and pulled out a blue t-shirt. I looked at the shirt, an old one from my secondary school and sat up.

 _I can help._

I quickly gathered my old clothes that laid strewn across my room and threw it in a plastic rubbish bag. There was an assortment of t-shirts and jumpers and jeans and clean socks. I even threw a pair of trainers that my nan gave me for Christmas that I hadn't worn yet in the bag and a blanket that one of the church members knitted me.

I sat down on my newly cleaned room and looked at the bag that laid slightly open on my floor. _How did I know that he would even show up again?_ I sighed and laid down to look at the river Nile of cracks on my ceiling again. This was dumb. I didn't even know his name. Why did I feel so obligated to help him? The familiar feeling of anxiety and restlessness rose in my chest and I closed my eyes, trying to not think of the boy with the dancing, brown eyes and the track marks on his arm.

I walked into the church the next day and was slightly relieved to see that nothing had been stolen, since I left it unlocked and unattended all night. I dropped the clothes bag inside of the broom closet in the back before hitting the lights of the sanctuary.

He sat on the stage cross-legged, a small, white bag with the McDonald's logo on it in his hand. I jumped back, startled. I had actually convinced myself that he wasn't going to come back. He smiled a little at me. "I found some money on the ground and I thought I'd repay you and the church was unlocked so I let myself in." He said sheepishly.

"Th-thanks." I said as I crossed the small room to the stage. He handed the bag with dirty hands and I opened it to see an apple pie box at the bottom. My throat constricted a little with tears at this small act of kindness.

"What do you do here?"

"I clean the sanctuary." I said as I set the bag down on the pew and started pulling my camera equipment out. "I answer calls and keep the books."

"Is your name Dean?" He picked up a pamphlet from last week's service that laid next to him on the stage.

"No, that's the pastor." I said I set up the tripod. "My name is Phil."

"Phil." He repeated.

"I never got your name."

"My name is Dan." He said as he started picking at a scab on his face.

 _Dan._

 _He had a name. Short and sweet. Powerful, yet simple._

"It's nice to meet you." I adjusted the camera on the cross.

He smiled and got up to get out of my shot. I noticed he was wearing the same outfit from yesterday, his knees peeking through his worn jeans. Relief filled my chest as I thought about the bag of clothes in the closet. _That was a good idea. I'm glad I brought those._

I felt Dan's eyes on me as we lapsed into silence while I worked on the videotaping. I glanced back once to see him chewing on his fingernail, his long legs pulled up against his chest.

I heard the heavy double-doors of the sanctuary entrance open and I looked up to see Pastor Dean, in his usual baby blue polo shirt and tan chinos walk in. Dean had an easy smile and blue eyes that drew people in and made them feel comfortable. Pair that with an American-slightly-southern-Matthew-Mcconaughey-esque accent and all of a sudden you're worshipping at the feet of Cthlulu, just because he says so. And the elders wondered why there was an uneven ratio of women to men in the congregation.

"Hello, Phil!" He called as he made his way down the aisle of pews. "How is the video going?"

I turned and shrugged at him. "It's going."

"When you're finished, will you do me a favor? I think we need more grape juice for the communion. Oh, hi there! I didn't see you."

Dan was staring incredulously at Pastor Dean. "I think you're on an advert somewhere."

Dean laughed. "That's very flattering and kind of you. Would you like something to eat, you looked half starved."

Dan's faced twisted. "If it's served with a side of Jesus, no thanks."

Pastor Dean laughed. "That wasn't my original intention."

"No, I'm okay. I'm coming down from last night and I threw up in the alleyway behind the church before coming in. Food just doesn't sound too appealing right now."

There was a brief moment of awkwardness that was so thick, you could spread it on toast and then Pastor Dean made a forced laugh and then coughed. "Well, the offer is always open or anything else you might need, no 'side of Jesus' included."

"Can you save my heavy, dirty soul?" Dan challenged suddenly, his eyes narrowing.

Pastor Dean regarded him for a moment. "No. I can't. I'm just a pastor."

Dan smirked. "I'm glad we're all honest around here."

"Honesty is a virtuous trait to strive for." The pastor replied and turned to me. "I have to go downtown to meet with the elders, can you pick up some grape juice when you're finished?"

"Aye, aye captain." I replied.

Pastor Dean gave his Hollywood-worthy smile. "Thanks, son." He turned back to Dan. "It was nice meeting you. I hope to see you soon." Pastor Dean turned and walked out, "whistling Dixie" or whatever he called it when he broke out into American folk-songs while whistling.

"Honesty is a virtuous trait to strive for." Dan repeated lowly as the doors slammed shut.

"He was being sincere." I answered as I turned back to the camera.

Dan scoffed. "He _thinks_ he is being sincere."

 _Can you save my heavy, dirty soul?_

"You don't have to try to pick fights with everyone that you meet, you know that, right?"

Dan squinted at me and then sighed, his head falling on the back of the pew. "I'm sorry. I don't feel very good. It makes me irritable."

I glanced at his arm, with the obvious puncture wounds and scabs, angry and red from being stabbed again and again, and wondered if being an asshole was a side-effect of being an addict.

 _Can you save my heavy, dirty soul?_

He caught me staring and crossed his arms, hiding his sins against his shirt. "I think I should get going."

"Oh. Okay." I said, surprise by his sudden change of mind. An hour ago, he was so full of questions and so talkative. I watched him get up and start moving towards the door. He was almost though when I remembered the bag in the closet. "Wait!"

I ran down the aisle and pulled the garbage bag out of the closet. "I wanted to give you this. We seemed about the same size and I was going to get rid of them anyway…"

Dan opened the bag and pawed through the clothes, looking at the old contents of my closet. He looked at me, a big smile on his face. "Thank you, Phil, this is kind of you." He hoisted the bag over his shoulder, hobo-style before walking down the sidewalk, whistling the same tune that Pastor Dean was when he walked out.

 _Can you save my heavy, dirty soul?_

I don't know. But, I could try.

Author's Note

Hey guys! Thanks for reading or skimming, judging maybe? Anyway. I welcome any and all comments!

Thanks a bunch and Chapter Two is coming soon!


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